Dunsparce
by Lunar Sphinx
Summary: New Chapter Up! “It all started with the Land Snake Pokémon that decided to make himself my partner. From there I succeeded in gathering together the worst pokémon team imaginable.” Cure for those who agree that even the parodies have become unoriginal.
1. Prologue, Et cetera

**_Dunsparce_**

_This one… formulated from my frustration of a reoccurring crime committed on these boards by most writers, including myself. We tend to pick our favorite pokémon, the cool pokémon, for our trainers. Everyone has an Absol, for example. Anyway, I got to thinking. Why aren't Absol extremely rare and billions of pokémon like Dunsparce taking over? I don't think a person alive could claim they used a Dunsparce to get through the League. _

_So I made Tanner catch these nobodies. He's not your typical OC either; no purple striped hair, stylish clothing, or silver eyes here— just a cynical teenager with low self-esteem and a very trying team. Enjoy._

Rated: PG (caution) for mild language and slight battle violence

Genre: Oh, General. Humor.

Disclaimer: The usual dilly-bob: If I owned pokémon, my story, not Ash's, would be made into a cartoon. Therefore, it wouldn't be likely that you'd be reading this fiction, for the appropriate reason that fanfictions aren't generally made into cartoons of the public-broadcasting sort. The **plot** and all humanoid characters (excepting Nurse Joy, Officer Jenny, and Gym Leaders) are of my own invention, however, and any parallels between them and cinematic/actual characters/plots are purely coincidental.

The disclaimer will only be mentioned here. I highly doubt I will own Pokémon by the time I post the next chapter.

PLEASE REVIEW, though if you feel the need to express any dislike or criticism, do so appropriately, (hence, no swearing). Criticism (and praise) is always appreciated, and I will do my best to provide an enjoyable reading experience.

Author's Note: This is a spur-of-the-moment fiction and is random. It's easy to write, and I will do so when a terrible writer's block occurs in 'Abra' or 'LS' or the other one, which I have yet to name, but will currently be referred to as 'Lily'. Please, don't hang onto this one. I have no idea where it's going. I repeat: this is a vent, a way to rid myself of sarcasm in a relatively safe way. Have fun.

**Oh yeah, one more thing!** This is written from Tanner's point of view! No one speaks perfectly, especially when relating a story with commentary. If someone shoots me for grammar, I will reincarnate (despite the fact that I don't believe in reincarnation) and hunt that someone down. The point made, however will be ignored. You have been warned.

Okay, another thing. Por tú, KaAn. No reason, really. Except you review no matter how bad my material may reek of sulfur.

WARNING: This fiction is not my chief priority and might not be updated very frequently. Lucky Streak, my classes, and my plethora of sports come first. This is a vent, a way to rid myself of sarcasm in a relatively safe way.

Cheers, your author, Sphinx

A Very Short Prologue

It all started with the Land Snake Pokémon that decided to make himself my partner. From there I succeeded in gathering together the worst pokémon team imaginable. Don't laugh now; it's mean to laugh at things that are true— why don't you employ a deep, moving pity.

**Dunsparce**


	2. Me and Them

It all started with the Land Snake Pokémon that decided to make himself my partner. From there I succeeded in gathering together the worst pokémon team imaginable. Don't laugh now; it's mean to laugh at things that are true— why don't you employ a deep, moving pity.

Perhaps I ought to explain what makes us all pathetic. After all, a 'team' includes the trainer. I'm thirteen. My name is Tanner Hooper. Inspires confidence from the get-go, does it not? I'm short and pimply with limp, mousy-brown hair and pale, wishy-washy blue eyes… decidedly unattractive. And my enemies don't call me Hoop without due cause.

As for my pokémon… It was the Dunsparce that wedged himself between the wall and the water-heater of our garage— not a whole lot of space for something almost five feet long and fatter than I am. Once I yanked him out of there, recovered as he sat atop me, and I could take a good look at him, I decided, "What the heck? It's rare. I'll catch it."

With the pokéball I happened to have in my pocket, I captured it. I suppose I should have known what I was up for when the pokéball didn't rock around at all, despite the fact I hadn't used any pokémon to weaken the Dunsparce. Maybe he was in trauma. At that point I also decided to name him Dunce. Then I said to myself, "Self! That is giving it too much credit." So I didn't name him anything.

Hoppip, Qwilfish, Exeggcute, and Togepi came soon after. It hadn't occurred to me, at the time, that the kind of pokémon I could catch with Dunsparce probably wouldn't improve the situation all that much. I didn't know it then, but that prediction turned out to be hideously accurate. Woo-ho, I'm psychic. Maybe I can make a fortune like Miss Cleo and I can ease my kleptomania. But we'll get to that.

Hoppip, I think, was the most normal as of the instant I caught him. It wasn't until afterward, when, as a purple Jumpluff, I realized there must be a problem. He wasn't Shiny; I knew _that_. I have a Shiny pokémon after all. Er, part of one…

I took him to the Nurse Joy of Blackthorn City, on the outskirts of which I live. Apparently the pokémon had gained an addiction for kerosene as a Hoppip, the long-term affects of which were finally showing up. Therefore, I must officially announce the dissection of a theory. Grass pokémon aren't _weak_ against Fire types, it is simply that they have a tendency to drown themselves in flammable fuels.

Qwilfish _is_ the most considerably normal… considering… the number of times she stung herself with her own poison. She's just kind of shy. Okay, that's a total lie: she's dead chicken. I've never seen a pokémon that was _so_ afraid to battle. I guess it's fortunate that we have no chance of winning even with her. Though there was this one time when she closed her eyes and tried to swim away: disoriented, she accidentally used Headbutt before getting fried.

Exeggcute isn't even a whole pokémon. Somehow I caught two of the six eggheads. Whoever said that that was impossible, let it be known: I _will_ find you. To make it worse, he's Shiny. Hot pink. Perfect, I know. I've got One Third of a Shiny, Gay Exeggcute. Whoever said, "Tough guys wear pink," obviously didn't consider the possibilities of actually _having _pink skin. It can't evolve, either. I nicked a Leaf Stone once, because I couldn't afford to buy it, but it didn't work anyway. I returned it. I guess I need a whole Exeggcute for it to work. Oh well.

(Ha! Gotcha! Didn't expect a fat boy to be able to sneak around and commit theft, did you! Well, maybe that will put an end to such illusory stereotypes.)

Togepi… Well, Togepi _bites_. She is mean; tiny, nasty, and loud— like a Chihuahua. She used to be rather fond of me— even enough to evolve into Togetic. I don't know what happened, but it's scary now that's she's bigger. It was something of a joke when she was a foot tall and weighed three pounds. Maybe it was all the joking that did it.

Yeah, so, to sum it up, I've got a talent-less, stupid Dunsparce, a stoned Jumpluff that's trying and failing to go cold turkey, a chicken Qwilfish, a vicious Togetic, and One Third of a Shiny, Gay Exeggcute. No need to be explicit as to who would have the advantage in the battle… Let's see… Seven-year-old scout, thirteen-year-old trainer… It's harder than you think. I.e., if you chose me, you're wrong.

I tried to remedy this. I sent all of them off in turns to a Move Tutor, in turns. Now they all have great moves… just… not… great accuracy. As Confucius said, "It is as difficult to make a BLT when missing the L as it is when missing the T." Yeah, I _know _he didn't say that. But let me tell you, it's just as hard without the bread or the bacon. I must continue this extended metaphor and say I barely have the two heel pieces.

I've got a traveling buddy, if you can call traveling wandering lost through Blackthorn or begging Clair for a Dratini 'traveling'. I eventually gave up on that notion— with my luck, any Dratini I was apt to get would probably be retarded. Right— back to my partner… Er, Trish is okay. If she were two feet taller, five years older, and twenty notches less on the bossy scale, someone (outside a desparate individual) in that great expanse we call the world might find her attractive. Except she is short, and eight, and… Seriously, you haven't guessed? She's my little sister. Togetic likes her. Fortunately she doesn't have any pokémon, so her power over me is limited. But she can still tell Mom, and kick and scream abuse. Don't say it— I know what you're thinking. I'm missing the mayo too.

**Yeah, I know it's short. Like I said, it's a vent. Read the usually pointless Prologue/AN. The story is supposed to be amusing. LAUGH! Aha! Aha… ha… ha…? **

**Sphinx**


	3. In Which I Participate in a Battle

**In Which I Participate in a Battle**

You're still reading? Oh. I must contemplate this situation. Why? Do you enjoy my perilously embarrassing life so that you must actually listen to me feeling sorry for myself? How cruel. Well, then, if you insist, I shall continue.

I was walking on Route 45, watching some fishermen catch magikarp. Trish was with me. But anyway— the magikarp. I've always wondered how I haven't managed to get one of the little buggers. They are certainly weak enough to round out my team. I would be inclined to say this is because they will evolve into gyarados at a relatively low level, and gyarados would be too much a valuable addition to my arsenal of otherwise inept pokémon. But I also must argue this amongst myself. After all, we are, as a whole, somewhat incapable of a victorious battle, and it may take years for it to effectively reach level twenty.

You may want, at this point, an explanation as to how Jumpluff evolved. It was no work of mine, of course. You must understand that I didn't encourage the whole process. Jumpluff evolved out of necessity.

If you've ever seen a member of the Hoppip family, you might notice that they have short arms with only one digit per. Jumpluff has no fingers at all, but a cotton-like material that apparently has no purpose other than lending the word 'fluff' into its name. It is very difficult to open a screw cap if you don't have any thumbs. For example, the sort of cap one might find on kerosene cans.

Because of the lack of opposable thumbs and having but seven pounds to create force, Jumpluff had to invent some very innovative ways to satisfy his cravings. Yep, if ever there were a contest to get to kerosene without using the lid, Jumpluff would be the titleholder. Hey! Maybe I go _make_ one of these contests, and perhaps we might win something! Have _you _ever seen a Jumpluff dripping acid? Until he evolved and learned Acid, as a hoppip he spent much of his time Tackling the container with his _extremely_ damaging mass, and afterwards, the walls that got in his way, supposing he got into the container and loaded. It took a lot of Tackling.

So I was sitting on a small boulder (a small boulder, not a large one, which would involve climbing, and therefore, exercise) near a pond where these fishermen were, trying to mathematically calculate the value of my life. Trish was playing with Togetic. The latter was shooting me less-then-furtive glares anytime we made eye contact. I ignored her. After the better part of the afternoon passed, and I realized I was no closer to any answer, there was a change in scenery. A youngish kid was approaching.

The kid was all dressed up in jeans, jacket, baseball cap, knapsack... A pair of pokéballs was clipped to his belt. He was clearly a new trainer, straight out of New Bark. I guessed he was about ten years old, and was pleased to see he didn't have an entourage as I did, even if mine consisted exclusively of Trish.

"I want to battle you," he said.

"No you don't," I returned dryly.

"You have to," he said. _Oh yeah._

"Okay," I sigh, as if I were succumbing merely to humor him. Well, I was, really.

"I'm warning you, I tough."

"I don't doubt it."

I meant that. The kid was no more than a few hours into his quest and he probably already had an edge on me. Eh.

"It'll be two on two," the kid insisted.

"No it won't. As the challenged, I have the right to decide." _Mew, that sounded good._ "Why don't you put your two against the five of mine?"

"But that's not fair!" the kid spluttered. I want to tell him he should give up trying to battle me. I like to at least make things difficult for the trainer if I'm not going to win.

"Yes it is, you've got to believe me," I said instead. The kid looks shocked at how forlorn I am. As if he expected me to get overemotional and flustered. Please, I'm not _that_ melodramatic. "Well, let's be on with it, one way or another. Tell you what. If you beat my first two, I'll send out more and we'll continue."

"Okay," he pouted. I roll my eyes.

The battle was quick and fierce. Exeggcute put out the Totadile easily with Hypnosis and Dream Eater combos. The Ledyba was extinguished with a Confusion-Barrage combo. I could feel our team meliorating at every moment. The squirt didn't have a chance. We had won! We were victorious! We conquered...

You aren't buying this are you?

Okay, okay. I'll tell you what really happened. We lost, naturally. It's an everyday sort of thing. I must lose a battle at least every other day. Well, you can't call down my consistently. I _am _consistent. Consistently horrible. Here are some details:

Exeggcute cracked. FIGURATIVELY, figuratively! No pun intended. Totadile blasted him away with a Water gun, straight into one of the fishermen's Poliwag. The pokémon slapped one of the heads make and for a moment I had been entranced, as if I were watching a particularly close match of water polo. The other head attempted Hypnosis, but as Totadile wasn't watching, it did nothing. Leech seed missed.

Dunsparce, with his ground moves, didn't have a chance. He simply turned his head this way and that (I don't know if he can really see anything), until he realized he was being attacked. Upon the discovery of which, he didn't move, but continued to look around until he fainted miserably.

Jumpluff was sober when I called him out. I had been so traumatized, I almost returned him. But call back I did not, for this seemed to be an excellent opportunity. I felt that there simply wasn't a way for that blue crocodile to beat my evolved pokémon. Alas, Jumpluff's Mega Drain was spectacularly off the mark. Totadile soon had its jaws attached quite firmly to Jumpluff's head. I could see it as if it happened it slow motion. All that fluff was tickling the roof of Totadile's mouth. Jumpluff was glowing, collecting particles of the sun's energy. He was going to use Solar Beam. The light began to blind me; I could feel Totadile fainting...

The light stopped abruptly. Jumpluff had fainted. I can't even explain how.

Qwilfish was soon trapped between teeth as well. Miraculously, she panicked and used Pin Missile. Hurting, the already hyperactive Totadile began flinging itself about, running it increasingly erratic circles with its eyes smarting. It eventually hit a tree and passed out. I was amazed. Trish, who was forced to watch the battle because I'd recalled Togetic for it, gasped incredulously, her eyes wide and her eyebrows disappearing into her hair.

Ledyba paralyzed Qwilfish by simply appearing. I recalled her.

The battle between Togetic and Ledyba should have been the best. But Togetic refused to listen to me. How dare she. After everything I've done for her. She didn't even try an attack. She spent the time glaring poison darts at Ledyba and me in intervals until Ledyba's persistent Tackles caused her to faint. Whoopee.

There was a bout of awkward silence, as if the kid couldn't come up with the right words to say how terrible I am.

"Wow, you're terrible," the kid said finally, returning Ledyba to its pokéball.

"I hadn't noticed. Are you going to leave now?"

"Once you pay me." _Of course. Kids these days, always wanting cash. _I decided to dispel him with a sarcastic, implicit comment.

"You think I have money? From what, battling?"

The kid left. Trish gave me a grin. It didn't improve my mood, especially when she decided to speak. I know she's going to say something just saturated with negativity.

"Still a failure. Back to the Pokémon Center?"

"Woo-ho, I'm still psychic."

"What?"

**Ugh, there are tense changes everywhere. Oh well!**

**Hey, people like this. That's great. I must congratulate myself on a random chapter. Good job, Sphinx. I just thought I'd mention the bit about Totadile hitting a tree came from an incident at a school rally. A girl I know, who does cheer, did a back flip into a drum set (only her feet caught). It was great. Fortunately, no one was playing at that particular moment. I was on the floor because I was with my X-country team. It was, like, five feet in front of us. Aha, aha. I hope she doesn't find this. But if you do, R., Aha! Ahahahaha! Well that was long winded. Please review!**

**Sphinx **


	4. Leprechauns Must Exist

**Leprechauns Must Exist**

Have you ever had one of those situations where your parents have you up against a wall? For instance, the parents of a computer geek send him off to summer camp. Do you not just love them though? When you're little, they give and they give. They seem to adore watching small children (such as myself at that age) toddle across the floor (or stumble, for those less limber—just as myself at that age), smiling so enormously they, (under any hopeful circumstances), would have split the young child's skull in half. Alas, the buggers don't die from being spoiled. As for me, even in my elder years my parents felt the need to shower upon me the selfless fruits of love. Don't they know fruit is healthy and I am, therefore, repelled by it?

Just this past summer, my parents, for my thirteenth birthday, gave me an envelope. As I sat at the kitchen table, preparing to open it, I also prepared to look most enthralled. After all, my parents weren't especially known for giving suitable gifts. What it contained was a round-trip ticket to Goldenrod City, via Blackthorn's one and only pilot, Pip, and his rickety biplane. I was very confused by this one, but fortunately, my intrigue concealed and replaced my lack of enthusiasm. Taped to the ticket was a small orange receipt, but I hadn't the chance to read it before my mother jumped in to explain.

"Son, we know how special pokémon are to you, so this year, we've arranged for you to go to Goldenrod City."

_Really?_

"You'll stay with your Uncle Earl and Cousin Lisa."

_Really? _(That 'really,' by the way, wasn't italicized with sarcasm, but fear. Earl was okay—genial enough, but built like a lumberjack. I mean, this man is _colossal_. Lisa is a different story. She's kind of cute and acts really sweet and quiet… No, wait. Here's a better simile. She's like Togetic).

"And we've paid for a weekend of Bug Hunting at the National Park too! Isn't that great? I can just tell you're speechless! I knew you'd be excited!"

_Not as excited as you are, Mom, _I had thought. I closed my gaping mouth and stretched a smirk across my face. I'm not really a smiley person, so she easily could mistake it. "That's fabulous, Mom. It really is."

So that weekend I was in Pip's plane, tightening makeshift seatbelt and clinging with one hand to my inhaler, and the other to the side of the plane, as if any of those things would help if we crashed. Pip was a little weird. I ignored his unconventional attempts at conversation ("Is this your first time flying?" and "Isn't the view just great?" Like I would dare peek out of my bucket seat) and thought of the best possible way to avoid ending up at a hospital in Goldenrod.

I was anticipating a severe allergic reaction from the flower pollinating the Bug pokémon were undoubtedly preparing as my arrival gift. I had come up with several ideas, the best of which meant running in and using my allotment of Park Balls as quickly as possible. However, excessive running and throwing might make me breath deeper, increasing pollen's accessibility to my lungs. The other involved wearing a mask about my nose and mouth. I intended to tell people the mask would muffle my breathing better than my crashing through the undergrowth.

The moment we landed in a clearing south of Goldenrod, Pip pulled me out of the plane (quite a tremendous effort, I might add; the man was quite old and scrawny, whereas I am not) and rushed me down the main street. He insisted he meant to escort me right through the National Park gates. Fortunately, when we got there, the rangers refused to let him go any farther without payment and he was retained outside Park grounds. Glancing between Pip and Park, I remembered a very old applicable phrase. "Out of the frying pan and into the fire."

Wait a minute! My other nickname given to me by hurtful people, apart from Hoop, is Porker. What if… My parents wouldn't really send me here to be processed, sliced up, sold, and fried to a crisp, would they? Was this really a subtle scheme to decrease my waistline because of the embarrassment it caused my otherwise pretty and skinny family? How could they do this to me? How could they be so cruel? I may as well stay here and die! I should just tell Uncle Earl that continuing to live is a black mark upon the earth and that—

"Hey Hoop! It's not a literal fire."

I came back to my senses and turned around, letting go of the lamppost that I was clinging to in artistic desperation. Apparently I'd said everything aloud in a bout of uncontainable passion. Togetic had released herself from the pokéball belt at my waist and was once again laughing hysterically at my mindless exploits. I, once again, ignored her. Instead, I focused my attention on the short, pig-tailed girl that resembled Trish quite closely, if Trish's face had been more pinched. It was Lisa.

Trish and Lisa have had a fierce rivalry since they were born, always trying to see who could throw my psychological state off further. But as I looked into the ratty black eyes of this eleven-year-old, I wished futilely for my sister to come tell me was I failure I was. Before she could say anything degrading, Earl grasped her hand (well, tried; it was more her entire forearm he actually caught) and led her over to me, where he got a hold of me as well. The three of us, with our arms (or fingers, in Earl's case) linked, walked through the more park-like area to where a lady was sitting at a table, taking entrants in the Bug-Catching Contest.

Sneaking a peek at Lisa, I realized now that the Bugs would be the least of my worries.

**Hey! I updated. This was a sort little thing but I decided it was better to write Tanner's incident in two portions and let you know I'm alive than take another couple months squeezing in writing time. I've got part the next chapter of Lucky Streak done, but again, the time just isn't there. No one really likes that thing anyway. So… PLEASE REVIEW! I'll be sad if y'all don't!**


	5. Grass Stains and a Short Stick for Beati...

**Grass Stains and a Short Stick for Beating**

It had started after several hours of unsuccessful searching (that had absolutely nothing to do with the Black Flute I occasionally blew as our position varied by any great amount.) Lisa was becoming increasing agitated with each minute of no discoveries. Whether or not it was a side effect or not, I can't say. I suspect she knew about the Flute in any case, though.

While it was created so only pokémon can hear and be repelled by it, I often considered my dear cousin as less-than human, so therefore I suspect she could somehow sense the Flute with an accelerated hearing. She continued to ask what that sound was, however, so I had to keep inventing new stuff to tell her to keep her engaged with the activity.

"A bird."

"My house-key."

"Your house-key."

"The coins I swallowed last month."

I was steadily running out of ideas.

"A shot glass up against the tequila bottle in my bag."

She looked doubtfully at me on that one, but shrugged, a kind odd smirk on her face like she know had a reason to enlist me in therapy.

"Can I have some?"

"NO! What are you thinking? You're underage."

She began to open her mouth to protest. Not that I'm particularly fond of Lisa's voice in any case, but you especially don't want to hear her whine. It's got to be _at least_ ten-times as worse as hearing the idiot sycophant in your Algebra and/or Physical Education class… Oh… wait… Well, whatever it takes to do less running. Anyway, she began to make that monster hole in her face wider. It happened as if in slow motion. I… quickly, I guess, though you readers may continue to imagine this scene at a reduced speed; I quickly looked over her shoulder and pointed at the closest thing I saw. "LOOK!"

She flung her head around… We're back to normal speed now. She turned and I not-quite-jogged in that direction. I really had heard a noise. A sound I had heard many times before. A sound that had consumes my thoughts all morning. Given the night, I would have dreamed about it. It was a call, _the _call, of a traveling refreshment cart, the bells jingling against the wheelbarrow-like conveyance. An extremely forgettable character was manning it. Therefore, I shall not describe it (the person). Maybe that is because I would have had trouble. The it suffice to say that it was a very feminine male or a masculine… Well…

"One hotdog please."

"Condiments?" Wow. Even its voice wavered between tenor and contralto.

"Just ketchup."

"Here you are."

"Thank you."

I paid him and walked off. At this point I was so content at just gazing upon my delicately cooked meal in all of its tomato-covered glory that I'd forgotten all about Lisa. Until she grabbed my hand—indeed, my whole arm—and ran off into the trees. Suddenly there were a lot more noises. My Black Flute was in my pocket, but I wasn't about to let go of my food to use it. Besides—if Lisa was doing all of the work, so much the better, and I wasn't about to complain.

I soon saw something quite amazing. A golden elliptical-shaped something was hiding under a bush. My first instinct was that it must be the egg of some extremely rare pokémon for it to be that color. My second was to realize that my first is rarely ever possible, or even faintly likely. I released my two Exeggcute quite near it—after all, it might be the shining hair of a Smoochum, or perhaps the extended head of a Shuckle. To my surprise, it turned around.

"Egg."

The gold Exeggcute then multiplied. A second one popped out of the bush. I was instantly (instantly. Snort. Yeah, you just keep falling for that one, don't you? I mean…) examining every leaf of the sample of foliage. There couldn't be another four floating around somewhere, could there? A Shiny Exeggcute! That could set the Sun Stone in my hands for sure. I could actually win this contest!

"Oh look!" I glanced in the direction Lisa pointed. I don't know how she managed not to say anything since the arrival of Exeggcute. In a tree, several meters off, was a black Heracross. No way. Lisa called out her Loudred. What'd _you_ expect her to have? This one was also especially obnoxious and cranky.

Suddenly the Shiny Heracross clicked open its wings. Lisa's jaw dropped. It took off.

"Come on Hoop! Follow me!" As if I weren't already engaged in something important. I got Exeggcute's pokéball out and pointed at the hot point two that were conversing quite enthusiastically without any idea as to what else was happening. My pokémon were glowing red—and the gold eggs also! Before I could stop anything, all four of them were swept away into the red and white sphere in my hand.

"Hooper!"

Lisa dragged me all over the park following that wretched little beetle. She used all of her Park Balls trying to catch it at far-range, and eventually used mine as well. The sky was an unmatched shade of orange and still I was pulled through tall grass, bushes, streams, and sand. And forced up trees and impossibly, down into dens—which didn't impress resident Vulpix. My face will have some burns now, to assure an _enormous _boost of confidence.

And, through it all, I hung on to my hotdog still. Oh yes. I didn't have a chance to eat it all day, but as Lisa threw my last Ball, I eyed that hunk of mystery meat like no one's ever eyed that meat before. As we walked through the gates, I inspected my prize, with its crushed and crumbly, and slightly river-damp bun, the cold and sagging wiener inside, slightly charcoaled where it'd been grilled, and then broiled again by that little Fire fox, the lack of ketchup, where the only remnants had stained the bun… It was beautiful. I compared it to myself, with my burnt face and torn and stained clothing, and I couldn't help but think: this hotdog was made for me. Made for me by a genderless person, but it will always be my hotdog. And then I bit into it. And then I made a face, spit out that bite, trashed the rest, and began to consider my Two Thirds of a Shiny, Easter-basket Exeggcute.

Johto National Park never did see such a screwed up tourist.

**Wow. Look at that. Two updates in the same week. That must be a record. So… Actually I wrote that first part in my English class. The teacher's kind of… different… Well, free writing is supposed to be quiet, but I had to stop when I got to the tequila bottle because it rather spontaneously jumped onto the paper and it tickled my funny bone. I had to stop writing or risk laughing aloud. Incidentally, the hotdog thing comes from a real incident, only mine was at a track meet. I really felt like eating a hamburger, so I got one, and was about halfway through eating when my coach tells me red meat isn't the best thing to eat before a race… I stopped eating it, put it in my bag, suffered through my race because my stomach was trying to digest the first half of hamburger that my couch _didn't _warn me about, and at the end of the day, I tried eating it and it was all cold and nasty. The END! Kind of pointless, but hey. **

**PLEASE review. It'll make me feel better. **


	6. The Art of Repetition in Satire

**The Art of Repetition in Satire**

Did you notice all of the 'TI' combos that occurred in that title? It's total coincidence.

Anyway, I thought I'd through a little Trish in here because she's feeling neglected (not that I really care) and I need something to recover from the incidents with Lisa and the resulting Easter-basket Exeggcute. And, besides, nothing's really happened since my birthday that's interesting. I know you're shocked. I mean, just look at my social life. You'd have thought _something _would have happened.

Alas, nothing has, and so my bitty sister's ninth birthday has become the next milestone in my oh-so-uneventful life. I—sorry, I needed a tissue there; I just reread that last sentence… Ah… Anyway, it's Trish's birthday.

I don't how it is in _your _family, but in mine, the younger child is spoiled rotten and the elder is left in the corner wondering why things happen. In my particular case, I've found out why things happen. I mean, look at me. And so, since Trish is the younger, she is not sent on an ill-advised, precarious quest into the middle of a people-unfriendly jungle with very dreadful company to understand just how sucky of a trainer she actually is. Nooo. _She _had the gall to ask Mother for a Trainer's License. (The same, I might add, I begged for _years _ago.) And what was her response?

"Of course sweetie. We'll just send you down to New Bark Town with Tanner and see if Professor Elm can set you up! When do you want to leave? Tomorrow?"

"How about when she's thirteen?" I muttered under my breath. Trish didn't hear me, but Mom did and did _she _ever upbraid _me _later. I ask you, how fair is that?

Well, Mother thought it was pretty fair. The next day Trish and I were heading to New Bark (which is code for forcing me to carry a heavy load of spelunking gear through flowery forests in an attempt for me to try to see how efficient _another_ hospital is with their emergency receptacles). She wants me to die, I think.

The trip south occurred with minimal trouble (i.e., the only pokémon we saw were, while better than any individual from my team, all common and not especially exciting, and, while Trish romped ahead as she pleased, through the trees and over streams, I somehow managed to slip in each of the aforementioned streams and sprain my ankle, not to mention get sliced up in a thorn bush _that wasn't even on the path_ that I steadfastly clung to). Is it some law of the universe that wasn't mentioned to me in passing? Am I just here to be abused? If such a law does exist, it would really be convenient and infinitely polite to _tell me_ about it. Just wondering. Don't go and bother doing research or anything for me.

If there was any problem, it was that Trish's carefree attitude was maybe a little forced (not that I would _know_; she's pretty good at lying through her teeth in any case). So when we stopped in front of the lab, which I suspect is supposed to be large and imposing but isn't really, I made a suggestion that had _absolutely _no hidden motives whatsoever.

"Well, since I'm here, I may as well try to get my license. Want me to go first and test the waters?"

My sister really wasn't the nervous sort of type, but I thought I might do the brotherly thing today—that is, offer to do something I really didn't want to do before she made me.

"Nice cover," said Trish. Off I went.

The room had to be as sterile as a laboratory could be, but if it was, it was hiding the cleanliness quite efficiently. The professor seemed to be the definition of rat pack. However, because it closely resembled my own humble abode, I ignored the extraneous mess and hailed the only human thing moving. Human being key. There were no pokémon in the room…

The man, classical in a white lab coat, turned. He was eating a bowl of cereal. Quite messily. I cringed.

"Hello, I'm Professor Sandalwood. I'm looking after this place while Professor Elm checks out retirement homes. My name is Sandalwood because I thought having an arboreal surname would place me among the established professors. My real name is Hinker-Mayer. I am not the most important of people, you see, which is justified by an inferiority complex. What can I do you for?"

"I…" I stopped. _Surely the man couldn't be serious?_ I reflected, a confused look on my face. However, because it closely resembled the expression I imagine I usually have on my face, I ignored the pause and continued. "I want to apply for my license."

"Oh sure. What's your name?"

"Tanner Hooper."

"That's a weird name. But I'm not one to be a hypocrite. So! The first part is an interview. You understand, I must take the time to make sure I'm giving these new pokémon and or licenses off to responsible people?"

"Of course."

"Great! First question: if you were a cereal, what kind would you be?"

"Excuse me? I thought you just asked what kind of cereal I was."

"I did. Remember, what cereal you _are_. You must embrace the cereal."

I tuned him out for a moment. Surely the man couldn't be serious? I decided to humor him and play along for a moment with the most applicable answer I could spontaneously come up with. I thought it was pretty good, myself.

"I would be a Cheerio, because it's not square—a no-nonsense cereal with just a hint of sweetness, but gets soggy quickly in milk."

"Denied."

"What?"

"Get out of my _lab!_ You are not fit to be a trainer! You must leave _at once_!"

He withdrew a pokéball from his pocket and I skee-daddled my posterior out of there just as quickly as my Dunsparce (which means, as we all know, the only reason why I didn't see what was in the ball was because my eyes were tightly shut and I was throwing myself bodily at the general vicinity of the door).

(Inside the lab, a very pathetic little Caterpie was being pet and crooned over by the professor).

Trish was waiting outside for me, her mouth parted just enough. Clearly she was ready to shoot me down. My sister really is the disheartening sort of type, but I thought I might do the brotherly thing today—that is, say something I really didn't want to say before she did. "Failed again."

Trish closed her mouth. She didn't even look at me further. Off she went. I sat down and waited. Finally, she came out, an unbiased mask covering any real emotion.

"So what kind of cereal are you?"

"Excuse me? I thought you just asked what kind of cereal I was."

"I did."

"I told him I was Lucky Charms—he was eating them—because they're full of sugar and contain no nutritional value whatsoever, but has all of these wonderful, brightly colored lumps of glucose they call marshmallows, that dissolve ever so slowly when you lick them."

"Were you denied?"

"Nope."

"What!"

I explained to her what shall henceforth be referred to as 'The Cheerio Disaster.'

"I reckon you shouldn't have told him you got soggy."


	7. Sugar and Spice

**Sugar, Spice, and Everything Cruel and Unusual**

About a month later, Trish and I had yet to make it to Cherrygrove City. Trish had insisted that she trained before leaving, but I had yet to see which pokémon she had chosen. And she wouldn't tell me. The brat.

I, on the other hand, was making great strides with my pokémon. I was confident that they will be prepared for League battles by—oh, forget it, you're not falling for it anyway. But truly I say to you, I was concerned about the brat. She was acting strange. She doesn't try to annoy me. She hasn't battled me, rubbed it in my face that she won—nothing. At first, I thought of taking her to see a doctor.

Then I realized that we hadn't managed to find our way out of the forest (because we all know that's really why we haven't left it. Trish training? Psht. Excuses.). So I decided instead that I would figure out what was wrong with her on my own.

I was napping by a stream when I suddenly awoke with a brilliant idea! I leapt to my feet! I knew why Trish was acting so abnormal. Er… Let's say more than usual. She was in _lurve!_ She had met her soul mate in New Bark Town and was sneaking off every afternoon and night to return there! Even though she's only ten!

Woe is me. Sigh. I fling myself to the ground in dramatic desperation and gather my head in my arms, clenching a fistful of hair (that I'd just shook artistically down over my eyes) for good measure. I remember my first love. Susie Callahan. For the first five years of my life, she was my dream. The year above me… All the purple prose in the world couldn't explain how beautiful she was.

But then she moved.

And I got over her.

Before I could successfully forge a plan that involved any semblance of action (never forget I use this word lightly. Well, I use everything lightly. Except perhaps my mouth. Teeth. Esophagus. Intestines. Stomach. A—you get the picture) or hope of result, Trish decided to include me and elucidate her situation. It was the next day! You can expect to rush genius!

Which got me to thinking: I ought to have a trailer to flounce off to.

Anyway, she comes up to me, looking completely innocent (except that she's never innocent of anything, least of all talking to me willingly without a hidden agenda), and asks me if I would trade for her pokémon.

I'm still not sure which 'what in Mew's name' sentiment hit me first: what in Mew's name would she want with one of _my_ pokémon or what could possibly be so wrong with the poor thing that she'd want to trade it for one of _my _pokémon? Then I had to take a moment to reflect on my life. What _could _possibly be so wrong with the poor thing that she'd want to trade it for one of my pokémon?

I could make off on this deal. _I could be somebody!_

"Is this why you've been moping around for the last month?"

Trish shot me a death glare. "I don't mope. You mope. I sullenly see what options are afforded to me and I choose a solution after careful and somewhat prolonged consideration. And sometimes I even admit I am a little withdrawn. But I don't mope."

After her, I don't know, first four words I hadn't been listening. I had to turn around to prevent the embarrassment of having the Squirt see my emotions overflowing unquenchably down my face. We weren't lost! We weren't gonna die! Never mind that I possibly may have in a sort of, not entire way, but only in a relative sense been wrong about one facet of my sister and the situation that really wasn't very important anyway (Stop. You must appreciate the finesse of that last sentence, of neither affirming nor negating nor denying an obscure instance in which the definiteness of my usual rightness may be argued). Anyway. It took great effort to refrain from a celebration jig-and-jingle combo. So with my back facing her I emitted a little, finally genuine Woo-ho that came out in a squeak.

"I thought we were lost." (Again, notice I do not assign incompetence to myself).

"You're a fool."

She dragged maybe twenty feet (I lost track, but I noticed I wasn't breathing heavily yet and I doubt my fitness had improved much, so the distance was likely negligible) and out we came on the other side of the forest. A marked path was not far away and the glow of city lights could be seen.

"So why didn't you give it back to Professor Hinker-Mayo or whatever his name was?" I asked.

"He said Professor Elm must be there for exchanges, but Elm doesn't get back for two months and the return policy ends after thirty days. Please, will you trade me?"

My elation plummeted. Its whistling fall and resultant crash could be heard at the top of the next hill. Trish didn't seem to hear it. But then, she'd said 'Please', so maybe she wasn't quite right in the head. Or, less so than usual, that is.

"Let me see it first," I said slyly. "By the way, what pokémon did you expect to get for it?"

"Togetic."

My elation let out a strangled, piteous cry. "She's my strongest pokémon!"

"She doesn't listen to you anyway."

"I was hoping…" I was hoping that, in time, she'd come to see what a fantastic trainer I really was, and so would live and breathe to serve me in battle.

"What? Were you hoping that, given time, she'd come to see what a fantastic trainer you really were, and so would live and breathe to serve you in battle?" She snorted. "Like that'll ever happen."

I pouted. I couldn't see any way the point was negotiable. "Just let me see yours."

Trish walked around for a few minutes, poked a Rattata out of its sleep, a released a pretty, little Chikorita. The battle was an interesting one. Although Trish's pokémon tried again and again to tackle the purple mouse, her aim was off owing to the fact that she ran sideways at it, and stumbled over herself more than make forward progress. Finally the Rattata ran off, and the Chikorita looked at Trish from the side and looked at me from the side and sat down and burst into tears.

I admit, at first I was amused at the clumsy game (I thought she might be just as psychotic as Togetic or was playing at it), and then shocked at her reaction (although maybe unreasonably; Trish can make anyone cry), before sympathy took over. I plopped myself down next to Chikorita and petted her and she hugged my arm and cried enough to sop up my pants uncomfortably and I consented to the trade and we went instantly to Cherrygrove and did so.

I hung out a little more with Chikorita and noticed that, even though she'd stopped crying hours ago, her eyes were still very misty. I realized, for once without an accompanying thought, that I'd traded away my Togetic for a Mostly Blind Chikorita.

* * *

**So, it's not quite as funny as it was, for but some reason I felt inspired—by a scene that didn't appear in this chapter, no less. It's gaining a direction but still won't be updated frequently.**

**Incidentally, I'm probably going to delete Lucky Streak, so if you liked it, but can't remember what happened, do yourself a favor and don't go and look at it. I hate, hate not finishing it, but it's a downer just thinking about it—I don't even know where I was going with it. **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed—I'll never have the heart to take down Dunsparce. (It's vain, but) I get a kick out of reading old chapters.**

**My new excuse is Uni.,**

**Sphinx**


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